


Kinesia

by venus woman and giant saurian (grayglube)



Series: season of kink 2019 [2]
Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Season of Kink, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayglube/pseuds/venus%20woman%20and%20giant%20saurian
Summary: It’s hard to catch her breath with someone’s soul in her mouth.





	Kinesia

**Author's Note:**

> For my season of kink bingo prompt "striptease"

It’s a dance like the way fucking is supposed to be a dance. He’s got his big hands waiting at his sides before they get moved by smaller ones, two big hands on a waist and hips and thighs, thumbs rubbing up and down a set of ribs.

He’s relaxed even with a buck twenty writhing around on his lap and she’s the one who starts sweating.

She's not uncomfortable, just apprehensive of why she’s had to come at all.

“You don’t look like you're having fun,” the fence says on her left, putting down his drink as she’s picking up her own.

“We should have gone to Dave and Buster’s, at least they have pool tables,” Seth says from around the body heavy on his own hips, more uncomfortable with her around than he’ll readily admit.

Richie says nothing, expression tepid despite the pair of naked breasts pressed into it.

Kate smirks. “I’m having a great time,” she tells the fence.

“You sure you don’t want a dance?” the man asks.

Seth’s eyes turn owlish, surprised someone would even offer her what he and his brother are already enjoying.

The reflection of a moving strobe catches off Richie’s glasses, hiding his eyes. The girl on his lap twists over his thighs, glistening with sweat and body glitter, an upturned arm running back over the long fall of her hair, her slick pout a moue as she looks back at Kate.

“She’s cute,” the girl says.

Richie barks out a laugh “She’s vicious.”

The fence finishes his drink, gestures for a waitress to bring another before he chuckles. “Little pistol, huh? How’d you get in it with these two?”

“Long, boring story,” Seth grumbles.

“Hmm, sure,” the fence hums.

* * *

“Seth’s drunk,” she tells Richie, eyeing his brother from across the VIP booth.

The woman’s ass shakes in the grip of two gun calloused hands.

Richie leans in. “I think she likes him."

* * *

Seth sleeps in a stupor on the fake velvet of the bench seat.

“Give her a dance,” Richie commands the girl against him from the darker edge of the private lounge, the fence long gone, the music making the walls vibrate, his hand closes into a fist, and Kate wonders if his third eye blinks, if he’s blood hungry enough to start playing games.

The girl’s petite, a nymph-like thing with small perky tits, compliant. ‘Funny,’ Kate thinks, tempering her glare. The girl smells like black cherry syrup and fresh cigarettes.

“I like your gloves, very Gaga,” the girl tells her, stepping close enough that Kate can smell Richie’s cologne on her.

“Madonna,” Richie corrects.

The topless girl goggles.

Kate sighs waiting for the punchline.

“Like a Virgin,” Richie deadpans.

“Virgin?” the girl questions, still perky. “I can’t even, you’re so cute,” she says, nuzzling close, pupils blown, the fall of her hair smelling like narcotic sweetness.

“Sit on her lap,” Richie says, an avid voyeur.

And the girl does, slinging a leg over Kate’s hips and pressing knees into the booth seat.

* * *

The leather of her gloves is hard to feel warmth through, good for keeping things clean, no fingerprints, no smudges, no taste of someone else’s soul.

Richie watches the girl swallow one of Kate’s fingers, teeth biting the tip of a stitch to pull glove off, tossing it somewhere that he catches it out of the air from.

“Don’t worry, I’m not looking at your manicure,” the girl laughs putting Kate’s bare hand in hers, pressing a naked breast into it.

“I bet we’re the same size,” the girl breathes, rolling forward and back against her.

“How much?” Richie asks, deadpan.

The girl laughs.

“If you're wrong we get to take you home,” Richie tells her from the dark.

Kate gasps, giving the wrong message to the body in her lap.

“You can take me home anyway,” the girl whispers against her cheek, stroking a hand under her hair,

Kate’s inhale catches hard under her sternum and then her halter straps go slack, the clip holding them clicking open.

There’s an open mouth settled over her own breast, leaving it wet as the mouth pulls back, her nipple hardening in the air conditioned chill of the back room emptied of all but the most special of guests, Los Geckos and some little pistol.

“You’re wrong,” Richie tells the girl, not staring at anything, sipping at his drink for appearance’s sake.

The girl in her lap pouts.

Kate reaches up to cover her own breasts.

“Don’t tell him, but I don’t really mind,” the girl tells her as Richie rises to change seats and a tender girlish knee nudges up between her own, warm, and insistent.

A tongue is in her mouth, her breasts hefted in a pair of hands.

It’s hard to catch her breath with someone’s soul in her mouth.

* * *

He’s come closer, across from her it’s hard to ignore the way he’s staring as she looks back over the girl’s shoulder at him. Eyes as open as he mouth, slick as a mouth between her legs.

She feels too big for her skin.

It doesn’t fit her right anymore, she thinks. Humanity ill-fitting on the both of them now.

He hardly looks bothered, the cherry of his cigarette a red dot in the dark his inhale making his face glow for a long moment before it’s shadowed again.

* * *

In the dark of her own room, under the covers of her own bed she twists.

_‘What are you thinking about?’ _he’d asked on the ride home with Seth asleep in the backseat.

She hadn’t answered.

She hadn’t reached for his free hand and taken it in her own, guiding it where there’s still heat.

She presses her knees together, thinking of a body pressed between then, blood spilling down between breasts, of Richie’s teeth in someone else’s neck, a body struggling against the inevitable in her lap, dying, gasping, writhing, blood on his lapels.

Dancing.

Like fingers ghosting down the front of her underwear.

She looks into the dark corners of her room, imagines the inhale that would light his face there now.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back to fic


End file.
